


All I Ever Dreamed Of

by fabrega



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/pseuds/fabrega
Summary: Did she even want to join Overwatch, if this was what it took?





	All I Ever Dreamed Of

**Author's Note:**

> I read the Bastet short story and couldn't stop thinking about Ana & Fareeha, so here you go. 
> 
> Thanks to smarshtastic for the beta. ♥

Her mother's funeral is closed-casket.

The casket is empty, a fact that few of the people in attendance know. They'd never found Ana Amari's body, but they'd reached a point where the reality of the situation was that it didn't make sense to look any more. Fareeha knows how this works; she's spent her whole life around people making tough choices, and she's made some of her own. Besides, if Jesse couldn't find her mother, either there wasn't enough of her left to find, or she wanted very badly not to be found.

Fareeha isn't sure which option is better.

The funeral is...complicated. It's a huge ceremonial affair, the Egyptian Army and Overwatch and the whole world coming together to pay their respects to the woman who'd played such a big part in saving them all. It's not the kind of funeral her mother would have wanted, but it's not like she's around to say so. Fareeha's commander had asked, gruffly and kindly, if she had wanted to be part of the honor guard the Army was providing, and Fareeha had said no. Her mother's thoughts on her service were a bone of contention in their relationship, and somehow it doesn't feel right. She's there in uniform anyway, holds her back as straight as her mother's rifle, her jaw as tight as her mother's aim. She doesn't cry.

Her dad does, stands next to her in his best suit and openly weeps. Fareeha puts an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. She knew that her parents hadn't parted on bad terms, but she hadn't realized how much this would affect him.

She wonders if he knows that the casket is empty. She wonders if anything would change if he did.

After the funeral, after the parade of important people she's never met offering their condolences, after a gruff apology from Jack and hugs from Jesse, Gabriel, Reinhardt, Angela, and the whole Lindholm clan, after a raw and emotional talk with her dad--after all of it is over, Fareeha finds herself alone in her room. She kicks off her boots and tugs the collar of her uniform open, sits heavily on the edge of the bed, takes a deep breath and tries to find her calm center. She feels exhausted, taut like a wire ready to snap and weary down to her bones, bright-awake and yet so, so tired. She puts her head in her hands and takes another deep breath.

There's a vase of flowers on the desk, somber and fragrant, a gift from her squadmates. It's lovely, and she'd been genuinely touched when they'd given it to her, but now, here in the dark smallness of her room, its scent seems stifling. She lurches to her feet and throws the window open, sets her hands on the window frame and takes a deep breath of the warm evening air. The breeze makes the curtains flutter, rustles the flowers of her bouquet against each other, flaps the papers on her desk. One of them flies loose, and she scrambles to catch it. When she has it in her hand, she realizes what it is: one of the many, many pages of paperwork required to transfer into the Overwatch organization.

It wasn't the first time she'd applied to Overwatch--that had been when she was sixteen, too young even to legally join, paperwork filled out with a fake name and a picture of one of her older cousins on her mother's side, the one she'd had Jesse use on the fake ID he made her. Her mother had come in one evening holding the paperwork, disappointment on her face. They'd argued, Fareeha with her voice raised and her fists clenched, her mother's voice low but every inch of her screaming frustration. Fareeha didn't understand _why_ her mother didn't want her following in her footsteps, and her mother couldn't give her any reasons--not just any _good_ reasons, but any reasons, period, beyond _because I said so_.

She'd heard her mother on a call with her dad that night. Her mother had said **_your_** _daughter_ , anger in her voice, and her dad had laughed and said, _no, Ana,_ **_yours_** _._

It was the same when she applied, for real, at eighteen: anger, and frustration, and stubbornness on both sides. She'd joined the Egyptian Army and continued to apply to Overwatch, every four months like clockwork, hoping each time to join that batch of new recruits. Each time, she was summarily rejected; each time, she received a vidcall from her mother and they had the same argument again.

Eventually, it wasn't her mother who called her, but Gabriel, concern on his face and in his voice. He'd told her that the system was flagging her applications, that nobody was going to approve Ana Amari's kid without Ana Amari's permission, and that they all knew that she was never going to give that for Fareeha. Fareeha had guessed that was the case, but that wasn't going to stop her from trying.

She'd asked Gabriel if there were any openings on his team that he might consider her for, because everything she'd heard from Jesse made it sound like it was exciting work, work that didn't exactly report to her mother. She wants to work with her mother, fighting side-by-side, but she'll take what she can get. A series of emotions had flashed across Gabriel's face at the question, surprise and amusement and, although he'd almost certainly deny it, Fareeha definitely knew she'd seen a little bit of fear. He'd turned her down, of course, gently, and asked her to just _talk_ to her mother about this. 

Fareeha had rolled her eyes and not done anything of the sort. She kind of wishes now that she had.

The paper in her hand, the one that had nearly blown away, is from her latest application. She hadn't finished submitting it when she'd received the news that her mother was...missing, and it hadn't felt right, applying without her mother there to tell her unconditionally no. She wasn't sure what would happen to her application now--would it still get flagged? Would she be accepted, without her mother in her way? 

Did she even want to be, if this was what it took?

Maybe someday, but not now. It's still her dream to join Overwatch, but she's waited this long--what's a little while longer?

She hears the paper crumple before she realizes that she's done it, and tosses it into the wastebin in the corner before she can think too much about it. She retrieves the rest of the application from the desk and takes a seat on the bed, crumples up each page in turn and throws it across the room and into the garbage. She misses, once or twice, and hears her mother's voice in her head, chiding her for her aim, her lack of focus. Her mother sounds warm, in her memory, and Fareeha thinks about the funeral, about the cold and empty casket, and finally starts to cry.


End file.
